Chapter 44
44
S ofteners make scathing comments okay. “Bless her heart” is one of the most frequently used.
Carlisle had lied to Jane. She said she'd be okay.
She’d insisted Jane drop her at home and leave her alone, even though Jane clearly saw that she wasn't alright.
Carlisle had walked past the garage without looking at the closed doors, without thinking of the sales that would hopefully roll in. She couldn’t process much of anything except that she couldn’t go on like this.
Selling her soul was too high of a price. She'd gone woodenly inside and sat on her couch, just thinking. She stayed there, unmoving, no glass of water to drink, no TV on for distraction. She hadn't even noticed how long she’d stayed there until the light changed.
Shit .
This was bad. She was regressing.
Carlisle hated it and hated herself for backsliding when she'd made so much progress. In fact, the only time that she sat and stared at a spot on the wall in recent memory was the other time she'd had to give an interview—the other time she’d cut herself open and relived her most harrowing day.
She simply couldn't keep doing it. Not if she wanted to be a whole human being again.
She also couldn't let Jane down. Jane had invested so much money in this. So much time. So much of herself. She’d done it believing in Carlisle and this idea they’d cooked up together. She’d done it right after she kicked her husband out of the house for cheating on her and got dragged through a messy custody battle for the four children she was basically now a single mother to.
How could she ruin this for her best friend?
The light was fading. Carlisle was breathing heavier, coming to harsh realizations, none of which were good.
She couldn't handle it—that much was clear. If she did push through and handle it , she would get worse and worse. Would she go back to as bad as she was right after the accident? Maybe.
She might understand Darcy's bipolar disorder better, because she too had gone through phases of euphoric high. She had reveled in the feeling of still being alive when she shouldn't be. She’d done a few stupid things believing she was untouchable. She’d also been through the worst and deepest lows she’d ever known. Whole weeks where she stared at the wall and wondered why she had been spared.
Maybe someone could come tell her what a fool she was being and make her mad enough to do something. But no one showed up to “bless her little heart.”
Knowing now that if she didn't do something she would continue to slide further backward, Carlisle told herself to just walk into the bedroom. She stood up and moved, following her orders as if she didn’t know she was trying to trick herself.
Now that she was in the bedroom, she might as well change her clothes. Moving slowly, she pulled out her comfiest sweats and grabbed a stretchy bralette, telling herself that she could get it over her head.
With all the pieces lined up on the bed, and her own clothing uncomfortable, she went ahead and changed. Once she was dressed, she decided she might as well walk over and play with Kitten.
Moving was better even if she didn’t feel better yet.
Grabbing her keys, she locked the door behind her. That wasn’t her habit, things were wrong. She knew it but she told herself to just walk across the grass.
The neighbor kids were out, and she waved at them. They’d set up a soccer goal in their front yard. It looked like their dad had mowed last weekend. Maybe the last good mow of the season.
Carlisle looked down at her feet. Shit . She needed to mow her own lawn and she hadn't. She needed to pay somebody, and she couldn't do that either. So she pasted on a smile and waved to the kids one more time.
The two soccer players cheered as one of the kids scored a goal on the very small course. Carlisle knew the sound should make her happy, but she didn’t feel it. Letting herself in through the back door, she walked slowly through the house. She checked several rooms, even ducking into Simon's bedroom and back out before she caught the glimpse of the small tail disappearing behind the couch.
She felt a grin stretch across her face. The smile was genuine this time and she felt the small joy seeping through her. Finally something good . Kitten was hiding from her.
Casually, she walked to the edge of the couch and laughed a real laugh as Kitten popped out and batted at her shoe. They called it “the Kitten Inquisition,” because no one expected the Kitten Inquisition.
Kitten seemed very proud of herself. Though she protested, Carlisle said, “Scoop!”—the word that both of them used to indicate to Kitten that they were picking her up. She held the tiny cat up and rubbed her cheek against Kitten’s head, even though the baby squirmed.
“I know, I know,” she offered, “Just one little snuggle.”
But Kitten rolled her little body until Carlisle was afraid of dropping her. Sitting down on the couch, she set the tiny creature onto her chest and leaned all the way back, too deflated to even sit up fully. The tiny paws walked across her chest, down her leg and jumped onto the floor.
The distance from Carlisle's knee to the floor had been too big to leap when Simon had first brought Kitten home. “You're growing up, little girl.”
Then she was lying on the couch at Simon’s, staring at the wall. She’d changed location, but nothing more.
“What am I doing?” She didn’t know if she was asking Kitten or just putting it into the air.
Making herself get off yet another couch, Carlisle headed to the fridge and decided against alcohol. Her body couldn't handle it right now. She grabbed a coke and headed back to the couch. The crisp sound of the tab popping and the fizz of the drink was familiar, and she opened her eyes fully.
It was just psychology, a remembered feeling of a drink that perked her up, but she would take it. She was still sitting there sipping at the drink, long since having gotten warm, by the time Simon walked in and saw her.
“Hey,” he said, a smile on his face. He dropped his keys and several other things in the bowl by the door and came back around to face her. The second Hey he offered was more concerned.
Carlisle started to move, her mouth didn’t want to work, and she realized she still had a drink in her hand. Far too much etiquette training from Mama had been drilled into her to spill a cola on somebody's couch.
After setting it down, she reached for him and collapsed into his arms. Tears streamed down her face and the feelings that she'd kept at bay since Jane dropped her off suddenly all swarmed through her. The floodgates opened, as if her body recognized Simon’s presence as a safe space.
“I can't do it!” she wailed.
He frowned at her as if she were speaking gibberish and then Simon seemed to catch on, his arms coming around her and holding her. She sank into the feeling as he asked, “The interview?”
She nodded, then managed to add. “I did it. I poured my heart out just like you said.”
Oh shit. It sounded like she was blaming him. “I don't mean?—”
“It's okay.” His tone was soft, his voice almost a whisper. But he was so close, she felt as if the sound seeped into her bones. Even though he meant it was okay and he understood she wasn't blaming him, Carlisle took it as a total it's all okay.
“What do I do? This is how we're supposed to market these. We put all our money in this, and we can't market them if I can't tell my story, but I stared at the wall for?—”
She finally looked up at the clock. Shit. He hadn't gotten home until close to seven. “For six hours today. Six hours I stared at the wall. It's not okay.”
She barely swallowed the words, her throat constricting as she pushed them out.
He leaned back on the couch, pulling her with him until she was laid almost on top of him. “It will be okay. I promise.”
“How? How can you promise that?” She shouldn’t demand this from him. He was just trying to help, but she didn’t need pointless platitudes. She needed something real. “If we can't market these, how do we move them?”
“There are other ways to market them.”
“We're lined up for four more interviews already!”
He took a deep breath at her protest this time. Her whole world moved as he inhaled and slowly exhaled. “We'll figure it out. I promise.” After a pause he added, “You can have Jane tell the story.”
“I could but I honestly don't know if it'll be better listening to her tell it.” Carlisle took a deep breath, listening as the sound hiccupped in her chest. “This is what I was like right after the accident, before you moved in. I wasn't functional today, though overall I've been getting better. I can't go backwards. And I can't let Jane lose all her money and I can't just?—”
His finger stroked a calming line along her spine. “No, you don't have to do it. I promise you we'll figure something out. We won’t let Jane or you go broke on this.”
She took several deep breaths, finally allowing her body to relax. She didn't know what he meant, and he didn't seem to have any ideas right now, but she allowed herself to believe there would be a way out.
Before she knew it, he was tucking her hair back and saying, “Just stay here.”
He slid out from under her, leaving her on the now warm cushions of the couch. She'd fallen asleep. Her stupid day of doing nothing had been so stressful that she was completely exhausted.
“I've got to go take a shower. We'll do something for dinner.”
She nodded and quickly dozed off again, the darkness pulling her under as if now that she was allowed to not worry, she was allowed to sleep.
A bright chiming noise woke her, probably not long later. The clock said eight. She should get up and eat something for dinner. Trying to orient herself, she heard the shower. He was still in. She must not have been out for long.
The chiming came again and, groggy, she wandered through the house trying to locate the noise. His phone was lit up sitting in the bowl by the back door. The screen read Darcy .
Oh . Smiling, Carlisle hit the button. “Hello, Darcy! ”
The voice on the other end sounded wary. “I'm looking for my brother.”
“Yes, this is Simon’s phone. I’m Carlisle.”
“Carlisle!” There was almost a squeak in the other woman's voice. Maybe Simon had told her as much about the two of them as he had told Carlisle about Darcy. “It's nice to talk to you.”
“It's good to put a voice with all the information. Simon talks about you all the time.”
“He talks about you all the time, too,” Darcy told her with a knowing tone.
“Did he tell you he was going to give me one of your paintings?”
“Oh yes. He had me pick it out. I mailed it.”
That made Carlisle even happier about it—that Darcy had chosen it. “Well, I have to tell you, I love it. And my cousin has already tried to buy it off me.”
“Oh, it's for you, don't let her buy it.”
“I wouldn’t dare! But if you want to sell her a painting, I could put you in touch.” Then Carlisle backtracked. She was going too far for both Emma Kate and Darcy. “I mean, I don't know what her budget is.” That was stupid. So stupid. But she tried again. “Emma Kate knows her art. She liked it so much she even looked you up online to see what your other paintings were. She only found one painting from eight years ago, though.”
“Yeah, that’s when I got one piece in a local show.”
“Darcy, you're really good.” Carlisle turned a full circle, looking at the artwork hanging in the room. There were just three pieces. Simon hadn't overdone it. But they were all stunning. “You should be in shows all the time. Seriously, it might be time to try selling some of them. I mean, unless you're attached to them! Do you sell them? ”
“Ha! I wish I could sell them. If people wanted to buy them, I would,” Darcy declared.
“I think once people see them, they'll want them,” Carlisle told her, and wondered what new can of worms she’d just opened.